


friday night fanfic!!

by peagnut (Peagnut)



Category: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), Pico's School (Video Game)
Genre: (nobody dies dont worry i couldnt do that), ASL, AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boyfriend uses ASL, Canon-Typical Violence, Chinese Food, Demons, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Multi, Non-Verbal Characters, Non-verbal BF, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Schizophrenia, Slight Un-ironical use of the Phrase "Spitting Bars", Slow Burn, bf's name is keith, gf is the epitome of no thoughts head empty, gfs name is cherry, he has non-verbal autism, hitman - Freeform, i also researched that, i did a fuck ton of research, i have the phattest bias for him, i like researching :), i saw someone use it and i vibe with is, keith is invincible or some shit idk, pico also has non-diagnosed schizophrenia, pico is my comfort character, pico is obsessed with guns, to explain him spittin beep boops, vague descriptions of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peagnut/pseuds/peagnut
Summary: Pico's a hitman, and his newest target is a painfully familiar face. He does all he can to spare him.(or an au where pico rap battles keith and instead of moving on keith becomes friends with pico again and they do bro things like kill people and kiss a little)
Relationships: Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin)/Pico (Pico's School), Girlfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School), boyfriend (friday night funkin')/girlfriend (friday night funkin')
Comments: 63
Kudos: 250





	1. pico's a gun nut

**Author's Note:**

> i havent posted fanfiction for like  
> 3 years  
> im very nervous about? posting this for some ungodly reason  
> probably the rejection dysphoria aha thanks adhd :)
> 
> i wrote this because fnf is a budding fandom and doesnt yet have its multi-chaper billion word fic and im here to be the madlad who does it  
> i will however not put a bjillion tags :)
> 
> every character will show up! even ones revealed after this fic, i'll incorporate them somehow  
> any other notes are in the tags
> 
> uh  
> enjoy :')
> 
> also i wont take this *completely* seriously

Pico sat on the roof, the air still, everything, still. From up here on his apartment building, he could barely hear everyone down below, where things are _endlessly_ loud and always moving. He hadn’t ever known what everyone was in such a rush for, always shuffling down the street at a pace he barely cared to keep up with. It made a job like this difficult too.

He set his M99 sniper rifle up, carefully. He prized himself in his ever growing collection, treating them all with care like he should; these possessions protect him every day. He never left the house without one, or two, if he was feeling especially paranoid. They’re out to get him. He can’t ever let his guard down.  
He knows very well, first hand, that guns can kill, and are effective at it. He only ever feels safe with the cold metal pressing into his palm (that’s a lie he feeds to himself everyday. He knows in reality that he’ll never be safe, not with the eyes he knows are staring at him right no--)

He cuts that thought short with a nonchalant shot behind him with his favourite Uzi. He shoulder checks, does a second take, and satisfied, he clicks off safety, runs over the story in his head (exploiting the fact that this is the shit part of town, he can use some sort of gang activity excuse. With the help of his employer this time round, the two will pass by the area and as soon as they reach the alleyway, job done, cops won’t touch this place with a 10 foot pole, his employer said that he would cover witnesses (his skin was a shade of purple so Pico wasn’t about to question it,) he gets to eat dinner for a month.)

Blue hair. He’s scanning around for _“lightning blue gay hair,”_ as stated by his employer. He almost wants to thank the guy for making himself an amazingly visible target. Eventually his eyes fall on the _“lightning blue gay hair”_ and he decides that it’s a _very_ accurate description. 

Of course, there's a hindrance; the pretty girl that he’s practically attached to the hip with. Normally, he would just wipe the two out, but he had gotten _extremely strict_ (and over the top threats) that he was **not** to hit the girl at all. Any _harm_ would even be cutting his pay. Originally it was _“a drop of blood,”_ but considering weapons, and sniping, and such, he managed to haggle it.

He lifts up the bolt, keeping an eagle eye on the boy.  
Pulls the bolt back, they’re about 10 steps away from the alley.  
Pushes it back in. 7.  
Pushes lever down, 5.  
Aims, 3  
Finger on the trigger, 2

Lines up the scope with the boy’s face.  
1.

Pico rips his finger off of the trigger, nearly sending the gun clattering to the ground, and his heart smashing along with it. He catches it and the gun clatters against the roof, which only puts a pang in his heart instead. He clicks the safety on and leaves the gun laying on the concrete, detaches the scope and shakily looks over the edge, nerves more frayed than they _should_ be. He steadies his hands and looks back at the boy.  
The description he had gotten was text only, He only went off of his mental picture and a crude scribble from his client that resembled a face _if he squinted reeeally hard._ He was confident that he would’ve gotten the right target, nobody could miss blue hair, especially when the client had made sure he would walk into this specific area.

He _never_ would’ve expected that it was Keith.

He barely recognized him, but the eyes were a dead giveaway.  
Double-taking, he notices the hand movements. Who else in this city uses sign language, has those eyes, has those mannerisms, and _it’s making him so uncomfortable that he remembers so much about this boy._

He shakes memories out of his head, coming back to reality and realizing he missed his chance. He couldn’t, he couldn’t finish the job.  
He could never bear to find out what those eyes looked like, lifeless, bloodied, He could really see it Now, Blue hair Strayed across The sidewalk,  
No, no, focus on something else. His new hair colour.  
Different from the brown he had come to know before, but completely fitting Keith. Keith had troubles forming words, only ever coming out in syllables. He often put the phrase “actions speak louder than words,” to its limits, gathering attention through actions because words always failed him. It made complete sense that he would do something so attention-grabbing.

_Keith was still the same._

Pico carefully picks up the sniper rifle that he rudely discarded, apologizing and handling it with care  
Right, the job. What was he to do?  
He had the promise of thousands of dollars for this job, so many he might as well never take another job. He foolishly put all of his bullets in one holster, and now he was practically screwed for months. He had to do _something,_  
Oh.  
Oh wait.

Something his client had been in rage about was the fact that Keith beat him in a battle of song. _Maybe,_ if he were to challenge Keith to a battle, he would be let off the hook by the ex-rockstar.  
The new, shambled together plan wasn’t dependable by any means, however, it could possibly work. By a stroke of luck. Pico had to depend on that.

Keith was skilled in singing. To say the least.  
He could only ever form syllables, often described as “beeps” and “boops” but damn, could he form tunes. Keith had described once that “it feels like he’s saying things but only he can understand them,” so if he were to be able to form words, he would likely be spitting absolute _bars._ But Keith made up for this with harmonization, the ability to add a musical spin from simply mirroring other’s lines. He was amazing at it, he didn’t need words.  
It was no doubt Pico had to put up a fight to win. If he had to win at all.

Pico leaves his sniper in his apartment, and hastily jogs out and onto the sidewalk. He can feel his heart beating in his ears, and he pulls out his gun to calm down. He breaks out into a run, and when he gets close enough, he calls out a name he hasn’t said for years.

“Keith!!”


	2. i use too many italics huh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pico rap battles Keith. He also is not vibing with his feelings right about now (funk soul brotha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt expect this to get any attention thank u :,)
> 
> to reward u cheeky motherfuckers here's another chapter on the same day! don't get used to it  
> i have no idea what im doing and honestly im not really taking this completely seriously
> 
> i also might be absolutely jank at doing dialogue im very sorry
> 
> shoutout to ethan and my gf mae 4 being supportive ;)
> 
> im gonna go eat now
> 
> edit: for some reason the italics in this one are fucked up and evil so i'll try to fix it later

Keith full, whips around to look at Pico while he regrets full-sprinting over to the subway track platform he found them on. He wheezes a bit, composes himself, and looks Keith in the eyes, ignoring whatever the knots in his stomach mean. He gives the girl beside him a few glances, she hasn’t even fully turned towards Pico yet, looking over her shoulder with an unreadable expression. Even if it _were_ readable, Pico wasn’t great at figuring out things like that.

Keith seems speechless, hands twitching and looking Pico up and down in shock. He eventually takes a finger and slides it down his palm.  
Pico takes a few seconds to boot up the part of his brain that _somehow_ still knows sign language. 

“What?” Keith had signed.  
Pico throws away explanations, raises his gun in the air, and prompts;  
“Rap battle?”

The girl’s pulled out a whole, three-piece speaker set. Pico wasn’t ever one to question, and for his sanity, he doesn’t think too hard about _where the hell she got it from._ She hands him a microphone, and Keith one too (with a kiss on the cheek. It briefly digs up a feeling he hasn’t felt for years, and he immediately pushes it back down. It feels vulnerable, he can’t be vulnerable.)

Everything’s set up. Back when the two spent a lot of time together, they would often have these rap battles, often for fun. He hasn’t done this in so long, but for once it’s something he missed, and is somewhat excited about this. Gun in one hand, microphone in the other, he looks up at Keith, who gives him a nearly excited smile. 

Pico quickly looks back at the microphone. The chrome glint reminding him of the gun in his other hand. The speakers whine, and eventually Keith’s girlfriend (he’s assuming.) Glances at Keith, he flashes her a thumbs up. Glances at him, Pico nods. She presses a few buttons at the top, and there’s a droning noise. He immediately remembers this, a freestyle rap beat they would often battle to. He smirks, nodding his head to the beat. The percussion kicks in,  
“Go Pico yeah, yeah go Pico, oh,” he begins. Keith quirks an eyebrow and smirks at him. Pico repeats, and Keith mirrors the cheer, and 

_oh wow._ His heart almost jumps out of his chest at the fact that _Keith_ can still say his name.  
Keith had difficulties saying his name, but he could always say Pico’s name, clearly even. As far as Pico knew, it was the _only_ word he could say accurately, and back when the two hung out a lot, he _loved_ saying it. Instead of spelling it in ASL, he would just _say_ Pico’s name, which always practically made Pico fall over. With some sort of emotion, he never grasped. He doesn’t know or care about a lot of the emotions he feels, does he? Should he?  
At the chorus, Pico’s reminded of how well he and Keith harmonize. He also notices how he tries to let Pico take the spotlight, making up the main chorus, but all that Pico can focus on is how their voices practically dance together on their own.

Eventually, the end of the song comes, and so does Pico’s loss, considering the crowd that’s gathered and cheering for Keith. All of their eyes are on the blue-haired guy, which Pico’s thankful for. Nobody ever notices him while Keith is around.

They run through two other songs, Pico only really half there. The sun's setting, and he can’t take his eyes off of Keith. Before he knows it, Keith’s finished the third song, the crowd is cheering and dissipating, and after all of the stage adrenaline, the three are left standing.  
Pico catches glimpse of someone on the other side of the tracks that’s _freaking him the fuck out._ He’s almost shuffling away, gripping his gun tighter, but he figures that Keith would want to talk after. Just for a bit, he sighs, walking up to the two who are talking.

“Hey,” he tries to put on a nonchalant smile.  
Keith waves and signs, “so what was that about?”  
“Oh. Well, it’s sorta unbelievable.”  
“Tell me,” Keith signs.  
Pico hums and turns slightly away.  
“So I was sorta…. _sent to kill you??”_ Pico shrugs nervously.  
Keith’s face goes a complete, surprised blank, and his girlfriend is still just smiling and mindlessly bobbing her head to her own mental beat.  
Keith just forms his hand into a Y shape and bobs it down in an “Oh.” Pico can only chuckle nervously.  
“I figured I could make a deal to spare you. Can’t kill a musical genius, yeah?”  
Keith recovers and shakes his head in embarrassment.  
“It was fun, but I should be getting going,” he eyes the person standing across the tracks, holding his gun a little closer and tighter.  
Keith shakes his head and quickly signs, “come and eat.”  
“I really shouldn’t, I have some stuff to do--”  
Keith grabs his wrist holding his gun, looks him dead in the eyes, and says “Pico,” and Pico’s legs go so limp that he’s easily dragged away towards downtown.

Eventually, they come up to some sort of Chinese restaurant and Pico excuses himself before he goes in, saying he needs to call someone.  
He sits on a box in the alley, pulls out his flip phone, calls his client, and the guy picks up scarily fast.  
“Did you do it? Where’s the daughter? Should I head over?” There’s some shuffling before Pico tells him to stop and slow down.  
“I couldn’t finish the job.”  
_**”WHAT?”**_ Pico rips the phone away from his ear.  
“Let me explain okay? I remembered what you said about a singing challenge, challenged him, said I would kill him if I won, and I lost…?” _Dear god,_ now that he’s saying it out loud it’s increasingly obvious that he’s a complete idiot, thinking this would work. There’s a few beats of silence on the other end before the guy starts talking again.

“I _know right???_ It’s like this kid is the main character of a singing game who _always wins!_ It was foolish of me to think you could even take him out in the first place. I’ll have to take a different route…”  
Pico’s just. Stunned. The guy was eccentric, but he didn’t think _this_ would work. Pico composes himself and continues.

_“As for my policy, if the job can’t be finished you are in no way obligated to pay me--”  
“Oh _nonsense._ You tried, the kid’s invincible. I’ll pay you half what I offered.”  
Pico can’t help his phone slipping out of his palm and clattering to the concrete. He quickly scoops it back up.  
“A-and that’s…”  
“Five grand, yes”  
The guy goes off on a dramatic tangent about Keith and how much he hates him, whilst Pico steadies his breathing.  
“And you’ll just deposit that in the account I gave you?”  
“I’ll do it in the morning. I have to think of a way to wipe him out…”  
Pico nods, shortly realizes that he’s on a _phone,_ and continues.  
“Thank you for requesting my services,” he says, and promptly hangs up. _

_He has to take a few seconds of staring into the void to compose himself, _how the hell that even worked is_ _**beyond him.**_ He rises to his feet, looks around him, and when he deems it safe enough, closes his eyes for a few seconds to calm himself, and when his heart rate slows, he heads out of the alley and into the restaurant._


	3. chinese food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pico meets gf, and talks with Keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why did i include a chinese restaurant im now very hungry for chinese food but its -30 outside fuck
> 
> also!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE COMMENTS AND KUDOS :'''O comments literally make my DAY and i keep thinkin ab them and goin :) like i cannot stress this enough big extra thank u to the ppl who commented and a normal but still a thank u to the people who kudosed or even just read it
> 
> also i have formed a schedule: i will be posting 1 chapter on weekdays (monday-friday) and i will not be posting on weekends cuz like i work and i spend time with my gf
> 
> also next week i have spring break off of school (grade 12 gang gang) and i will not be posting until thursday unless i find the time to write a new chapter or something
> 
> this schedule isnt like super strict its more of like  
> a suggestion on when i'll post
> 
> anyways! enjoy the chapter palz n another thank u so much for all the positive feedback i'm living off of it

He finds Keith and the girl at a booth in the corner and sits down with them. Keith is flipping around in the menu, and the girl is _still_ bobbing her head. Pico turns to her.  
“So, I don’t think you’ve told me your name yet.”  
The girl stops her movement to talk.

“Ah, right. I’m Cherry,” she gives him a cute, tiny wave, and after her sentence is done, she goes back to swaying her head. 

Pico looks between the two. They fit almost perfectly. In colour scheme and personality. Cherry, light spoken and seemingly going with the flow, and Keith, headstrong and attention-grabbing. They fit together well, and Pico was happy for them.

Keith puts down his menu and looks Pico in the eye.

“So, what did you say about killing me?” He signs.  
Pico blinks at his bluntness.

“Well, some purple-skinned guy asked me to just…” He gestures at his gun.

“It all makes sense,” Cherry nods. Pico just looks on incredulously.

“So what the fuck did you do to piss off a huge rockstar?”

“I want to date his daughter,” Keith signs. Pico splutters.

“Wait, so she, and him and you…” Keith just nods.

“I mean, congratulations on scoring big, but, _why_ does that warrant murder???” Keith shrugs.

“Rich,” he signs. Pico just nods understandingly.

“Daddy dearest is just overprotective,” Cherry says, “...and boyfriend over here beat him in a singing battle.”

“I still don’t see why you would hire a hitman on a 17-year-old kid because he sings better than you. And the fuck’s up with the skin? Yours looks pretty normal to me.”

“They’re demons,” Cherry says, nonchalantly. Pico doesn’t even have the capacity to question--just another weird-ass thing to add to the list of weird-ass things in this city.

“I have to win over her mom next,” Keith signs.

“Considering the dad’s a nutjob either she is going to be a nutjob too, or she’s going to be really nice and understanding. No in-between.” Keith hides behind his menu, snickering, and Cherry shows a slightly different expression for once; an eyebrow twitch.

* * *

Eventually, all conversation is put on hold for shoving food in their faces and _man_ Pico hasn’t had Chinese food for so long. Or takeout. Or _anything_ made in a restaurant. It’s been a rough couple of months.

They laugh over different topics, like how Cherry’s father practically said Keith was the juggernaut of kids, or other things, like something that happened with Keith and Cherry just the day before, where two kids dressed in Halloween costumes, claiming it was “spooky month,” (it’s February) and that they were looking for a treat, whom they decided would be Cherry. Keith somehow chased them off with a rap battle (is that how people resolve conflicts nowadays??)

Eventually, they’ve paid and are out the door. Pico’s saying his goodbyes to the couple, leftovers in hand. Cherry seemingly ready to go, as she’s already trying to drag Keith away. Keith stands there, in the middle of the sidewalk, people passing by. Pico can tell he’s trying to decide something, so he doesn’t walk away just yet.

Keith shakes Cherry’s grasp and pulls Pico into the alley, out of the way of the downtown lunch rush.  
“I want to be friends with you again,” he signs. Pico can feel his body go numb at the idea.

Pico didn’t like having friends. He never knew which ones would sell him out, or betray him, or were even _real._ He never had a good grasp on reality, and he knew that whatever problem that he’s ignoring in his brain (normal people likely _don’t_ hallucinate,) definitely get in the way of his friendships. Pico didn’t like people.

Nene and Darnell were exceptions, of course. Shared trauma and whatever. Keith was...different.

Nene and Darnell weren’t good people, like him. Nene overreacted to the highest degree, usually jumping to the conclusion of ending her life over _anything_ , and Darnell having overly destructive tendencies. Combine that and shared trauma between the three, they stuck together through anything. And they often pushed Pico enough that he wouldn’t push them away. 

Keith was different. He hadn’t committed any crimes past graffiti, and he was society’s golden innocent child, practically. Pico couldn’t risk hurting him or influencing him in Pico’s whole lifestyle, so he pushed him away those years ago, and he wasn’t about to go back on that.

A part of him wanted to, though. He won’t deny that the 6 months he spent with Keith was the best 6 months he’d ever had. Spent with another person, nonetheless.

Oh, shit. Keith is still signing. Uhh...he catches a “we don’t have to ever mention what happened,” a “I really want you to,” and an “I’m over what happened between us, I only want to be friends again.” (That one hurts more than he’d like, and he _very_ quickly pushes down whatever lump formed in his throat from that.)

Starting fresh would be nice. He’d like to think he’s more stable now, less of a burden. (Only a little.)

“Please?” Keith says, coming out more like a “ples” and making Pico push out a chuckle.

“I...you’re sure you want to?” Keith nods frantically, like this is some infomercial deal that’ll end in seconds. Pico mulls over the pros and cons, and,

“Yeah, alright,” he sighs out. Keith’s hands are shaking in that little excited way that he surprisingly still does, and Pico can’t help but smile a little. 

Keith cartoonishly jumps, puts up a finger, and pulls out his own cell phone, flipping it open, and with a few clicks he passes it over to Pico, to put his number into. Pico does, passes it back, and his own cellphone pings. The screen on the front tells him he has a “new message from an unknown number,” and the message being a simple “:),” to which Keith’s actual face mirrors.

“I’ll see you again,” Keith signs. He then considers something, decides on it, gives Pico a quick hug, and bounds off into the passerby crowd, leaving Pico standing in the alley with a bright red face.


	4. dr pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Cherry talk a bit about Pico.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bang bang bang bang thats my head on the table because i cant fucking believe!!!! it guys!!! what the fuck??? what is this??? support??? never heard of her
> 
> you guys are actually so fucking nice what the fuck thank you???
> 
> this chaps ab like  
> pico through another perspective  
> bc like i was worried i was like portraying him as like seemingly ooc and insecure like  
> hes still all >:) on the outside fyi
> 
> so heres this
> 
> also obligatory texting chapter this is what happens every time so i had to
> 
> ok i love u guys :DD thank you again

Keith leaves Pico in the alley to meet up with Cherry again, ecstatic. He can’t believe that worked! Now he’s friends with Pico again, he’s got his number so he can actually communicate with him and Pico won’t run from him again, and to top it all off, Pico seemed happy! Everything fell into place and Keith can’t help himself from humming his own tune as he looks around for Cherry. 

At first, she seems to be completely gone, but she suddenly appears behind Keith, making him practically yell out in surprise. Cherry giggles and takes his hand while they walk home. Don’t get him wrong, he loved being in any physical contact with Cherry, but it always confused him that she would take his only proper form of communication like this. It’s practically like someone holding your lips shut.

“Pico seems nice,” she says, looking forward. Keith wriggles his hand out of her grasp.

‘He is,’ he says. He moves his hands to say more things, man he could talk for days about Pico, but Cherry cuts him off.

“Although, I don’t get why you wanted to get in contact with him again, considering what you told me last time,” she gives him a glance. Keith shakes his head.

‘He wasn’t alright last time. He’s probably better now, since he’s friends again!’

“Keith, I’m just worried about you. Didn’t you see how he constantly acted?”

Pico always seemed calm, cool, and collected. There were obviously more layers to him, but to Keith he’d always be a badass! The guy has a collection of guns for god’s sake!

‘He seemed fine to me,’ Keith says with a shrug. Cherry sighs, and clearly that means he’s missed something.

“For one, didn’t you see how he was constantly on edge? He only really seemed to somewhat relax during the battle.”

Cherry was right on that, but Pico was always jumpy and Keith knew the exact reason why.  
Pico...it wouldn’t be mean to say that he had some sort of mental illness. 

Back when they were friends, Pico admitted a few times that he’d see things that he thought weren’t real. Sometimes he’d hear things that weren’t being said. It was the main reason he’d keep his gun around, because Pico was convinced that these were real. Now, Keith wasn’t a psychologist, so maybe it would be offensive to assume Pico had something like schizophrenia.

Either way, it would be ideal to get some sort of mental help for Pico, no matter how much he’d like to deny that fact.

‘He’s always been like that,’ Keith states. Cherry presses her lips together.

“Okay...but what about the fact that he was hired to kill you?” Keith immediately shook his head at that.

‘That’s his job.’

“I don’t know if you’d want to be friends with someone who kills people for money.”

‘Sometimes you have to find ways to make a living.’

“I still don’t like it.”

‘You don’t have to be around him,’ Keith says. He’s getting a little annoyed. Couldn’t she see the good in Pico?

“I’ll hang around him because he’s one of your friends, but I’m still going to be worried. I don’t think someone as paranoid as him should be handling guns. Did you see how he was always waving around that pistol?”

‘Uzi,’ Keith corrects. Anyone who called Pico’s Uzi anything else was practically asking to be at the end of the barrel. People who said “gun” were on thin ice.

‘You should see him without guns if you think he’s paranoid now.’

“That’s not a good thing!”

Keith was getting frustrated, and figures that she’ll never understand. He drops his hands to his sides and keeps walking.

They get to his own apartment building and they depart with a kiss. Keith’s still being ‘petty’ about the fact that she won’t just listen to him when he says Pico’s a good guy at heart.

Keith belly-flops onto his couch and pulls out his phone, immediately navigating to Pico’s contact.

“did u get home safe :O” Keith texts.

“Yeah, I did” Pico texts back. Ah, so he’s one of those semi casual typers.

You: thats good :) 

is keith overusing emoticons? Yes. Does he care? No.

You: did u have fun 2day :O i thought you were but idk

picoo: I did. Thank you for dinner

You: ur lucky cher and i didnt pull another dr pepper pepper experiment

picoo: What?

* * *

You: and thats all the dr pepper pepper experiments

picoo: Okay so let me get this straight.  
picoo: A doctor pepper pepper ‘experiment’  
picoo: Is something you and your girlfriend do in a restaurant when you’re bored  
picoo: Where you order a glass of Dr Pepper  
picoo: And proceed to deface it with pepper, salt, and any other thing at the table you can think to put in it  
picoo: And then you fucking drink it  
picoo: All whilst recording it for ‘future reference’  
picoo: And last time you did this, you drank it and threw up pure black onto the sidewalk for 20 minutes???

You: yes

picoo: You are a silly, silly man

You: we shuld do it next time we go to a restaurant

picoo: No thank you

You: pls :,(

picoo: No.

You: :,(

Keith’s fingers hurt, but he doesn’t care. He also hopes Pico’s laughing as much as he is at this conversation.

You: hey do u wanna like hang out tomorrow

picoo: Okay? I wouldn’t know what to do

You: i have ideas

picoo: Alright, but it’s already 11PM. If we’re going to chill I gotta go sleep

You: oh wow its 11???

picoo: Yeah

You: wow ok goodniight

picoo: Goodnight

You: love you  
You: like a bro

picoo: yfrafdsa

You: ?

picoo: Dropped my phone. Sorry. Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact! the dr pepper pepper experiments are a real thing that i made up when i was stuck in a chinese restaurant for 2 hours straight and like i had dr pepper and i was like "lol what if dr pepper pepper" and i put pepper into it and by the end we had put bamboo bits, salt, parmesean cheese, a literal piece of ginger beef, the lot
> 
> and this continued in many other different scenarios
> 
> last time we did it my brother threw up straight black
> 
> and by mentioning chinese restaurants i was just thinkin ab it and snuck it into this chapt
> 
> thank u for reading!!


	5. snow fuck you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Pico have a day out after a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey my little pogchamps we've had a drought in regards with like chapters n shid so i decided to reward nyall with this bigger than usual one
> 
> i have to work again too so like yunno :D enjoy i wont be very active but i'll try 2 reply to all comments as per usual
> 
> this ones ab a cold day because its fuckiNG COLD IN CANADA RIGHT NOW and it was extra cold when i wrote this like fuckinnn -35c and thats -31f for u muricans
> 
> also speaking of c and f at some point a temperature is said and its in f because haha america :) so for u celcius users its -7 btw
> 
> idk if thats enough to freeze a lake, and frankly i dont care
> 
> my fic my science
> 
> also im really sorry for putting this at the bottom bUT I GOT MY FIRST FANART FOR THE FIC!!!!!!! AND MY FIRST FANART EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> i will be putting it in at the bottom!!!!!! of the fic!!!!!!!! and linking their tunglr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! bc they deserve it!!!!!!!!
> 
> ive also decided any fanart i get goes on my fridge and since i live in an apartment anything goes
> 
> thank you all so much for reading!!!!

Pico wakes up from his couch, freezing. Which, okay, he doesn’t have any sheets on, but he shouldn’t be straight up shivering first thing in the morning. His apartment’s dark, save for the near pure white light coming out of the blinds. Pico, assuming that the holy Lord has finally come down to flood everyone in this city, drags himself off of the couch and looks out of the window to find that the holy Lord has, infact, decided to _freeze_ everyone to death.

A thick blanket of snow covers the entire street, with bundled up business owners shovelling their respective sidewalks, with even more gentle snowfall continuing. There’s a weather warning on Pico’s phone, about snowfall. _No shit._

He guesses the cheapskate landlord hasn’t turned on the building’s furnace yet, since he’s still shivering. If he’ll turn it on at all. Pico goes and takes the entire blanket off of his bed, and drapes it around him. He drags himself and his giant warm comforter to the kitchen to make some sort of hot beverage, when he gets a ping from his phone. 

Keith: im blind right now

You: I’m guessing you saw outside?

Keith: we can still hang out its not cold

You: If you say so

Pico starts the heat on the kettle and sits back on the couch, shivering still. He turns on the TV, only half paying attention when there’s a knock on the door. He gets up, holding his gun and peeks through the keyhole, just to see nothing. 

He’s no longer shivering, holding his breath, clutching his gun, and he whips open the door to find...nothing. Again. He can, however, hear someone's hurried footsteps from the stairwell. That someone bursts through the stairwell door at the end of the hall, that someone being Keith. 

“Ah,” Keith says, making his way down the hall, ‘how did you know I was coming?’ He signs. Pico just shakes his head dismissively and heads back in his apartment, leaving the door open for Keith to follow suit. 

He remembers his kettle, and turns it off, pouring it into the mug of hot chocolate powder. He gives Keith a glance, Keith nods, and he makes him a cup too.

‘I think it’s cool that we can do that,’ Keith signs, ‘wordlessly communicate.’

‘I can’t do that with anyone else. Not even Cherry.’

‘I tried but I don’t think she fully understands.’

“I think it’s pretty cool too. Pretty convenient,” Pico says, handing Keith his hot chocolate as they walk back to the couch.

“Wait, how did you even know where I live???”

‘I didn’t, I just went around to apartment buildings handing them this,’ he signs, passing Pico a piece of paper that just says ‘does a Pico live here?’

Keith gives a thumbs up, ‘third times the charm.’ Pico chuckles. 

“Well, you’re definitely the best stalker I’ve had,” he smiles. Keith grins back, sipping hot chocolate. 

It’s at this moment that Pico realizes that Keith is a certified idiot. He reaches over and pulls at Keith’s short sleeved t-shirt. That he assumedly wore. In 19 degrees fahrenheit. 

Keith just shrugs innocently and Pico musters a disappointed look at the blue haired boy. He gets up and goes to his room, picks up one of the many green sweaters strewn around and throws it at Keith.

(He also avoids how Keith stares at it)

Pico puts on a sweater himself, decides on 2, for good measure, and heads back out just to push down a wave of feelings he gets from seeing Keith curled up, in _his_ sweater, with some hot chocolate, snuggling into _his_ blanket, on _his_ couch, in _his_ apartment (he missed this. He missed this feeling.)

“Pico,” he says, holding the blanket open for him. Pico’s not really cold. Or wanting to sit down (that’s a lie, his legs are giving out as he thinks,) and he’s really mostly wanting to cringe away or awkwardly walk back into his room, but, despite all this he goes over and sits by Keith in the warm blanket. Keyword: warm.

  
  


He closes his eyes, slowly. It's not something Pico's fond of doing, at all. Pico's the type to always be aware of what's around him, and always on guard. He's the type to keep going through exhaustion until his body naturally passes out, because things around him could hurt him and he can't give it an opening. 

Despite this, he rests his eyes. Keith can look after him. Just this once.

Does he trust Keith?

He guesses he does.

* * *

Keith's offhandedly watching TV while Pico sleeps like he hasn't closed his eyes for a week.

Snores like it too.

It's sad. It makes him sad. He wants Pico to be better.

At least he's sleeping now. Keith's heart is also practically exploding from the fact that Pico, the guy who's clearly very paranoid, is currently sleeping in his arms.

He knows Pico's probably going to freak out when he wakes up. He always did.

For now, he's enjoying the warmth. And seeing Pico so calm.

At some point, Pico wakes up, but instead of a flurry of nerves and panic, he stirs lightly and sits up. Keith snickers at the fabric imprinted on Pico's yawning face.

Pico blinks a few times, in that small line between sleeping and waking up where you're just calm, oblivious, and serene.

Pico looks between Keith's face, the small drool spot on his chest, the fact that their legs are still touching and his face goes bright red. 

Pico all but launches himself to the other side of the couch, spewing out apologies while Keith tries to stop him by crawling over and putting his hands over his mouth.

Eventually Pico quiets, and Keith signs 'it's okay' about a million times before he finally relaxes.

Not the usual type of post-sleep panic Pico had, but it was much preferred over the former.

Back when they used to sleep over at Keith's, Pico, with much resistance, would fall asleep. 

Unless they were sleeping in the same bed, in which Pico would practically be knocked out in seconds.

In the morning, usually Pico would be completely gone. Usually in the next room, on the couch, gun in hand, mindlessly watching TV. Those mornings were okay. Pico seemed a little out of it, but not terrible.

Sometimes Keith would wake up before Pico did, and every time, Pico would wake up in a panic, like he always woke from the middle of a nightmare.

Sometimes he would just wake up, panting and shaking.

Other times he'd immediately back away from Keith.

_Other_ times, he would be in such a panic he'd immediately grab his gun.

Once he pointed it at Keith. It was near terrifying.

But now, it's just a panic seemingly from accidentally falling asleep on someone. 

It's nice. It seems Pico's improved from whatever happened to him, even if just a bit.

"Shit, my hot chocolate's cold chocolate," Pico says, disappointed. He stretches and gets up to pour it out, and Keith follows suit.

* * *

Pico watches Keith unceremoniously faceplant into the ice. They're at a nearby city park, where a lake's frozen overnight. Keith saw it, went feral, and immediately went sliding onto it, to where he's face down laughing at his idiocy while Pico does the same.

He wobbles across the ice, every step making him slip more and before he knows it, he's on his back sliding beside Keith where he laughs harder while Pico wheezes, trying to get back the wind that was knocked out of him. 

At some point Pico finds himself translating for Keith to some kids to barter for their sled. The kids ended up running away, leaving their sled for the two (which is an appropriate reaction when two adults, one with a gun and the other throwing up hand signs, approaches you, a young child just wanting to enjoy the sudden cold snap.)

They trudge up the giant hill beside the frozen lake, sled in tow, (Pico feels like a kid again. He always does with Keith which isn't a completely bad thing,) they make it up and Keith positions himself on the sled. 

Pico takes a few steps back and jumps on the sled, the momentum sending them barreling down the hill with whoops and hollers (and beeps.)

Before they realize, the sled goes up a bump, sending them careening in the air right onto a rock, which practically explodes the shoddy wooden shed, and the two roll down the hill, hit the lake, and slowly slide to a stop beside each other on the ice. 

Keith blinks a few seconds, and once he's processed what happened, he erupts into laughter, to which Pico does as well. They stay there, cracking up, on the cold ice, and despite the fact that Pico's rapidly going numb from all the snow that's melting into his clothes from the fall, he could give less of a shit.

Eventually the laughter dies down and the cold settles in, so the two get off of the ice, clean up the remains of the sled, and drop 50$ in the hands of the kids before walking away. The kids are likely dumbfounded, Pico thinks, but hey, 50 dollars is 50 dollars. Their parents won't believe it.

The café's warm, melting the snow off of the boys as they stomp snow off of their shoes at the entrance mat. They're only here to warm up, but for some ungodly reason Keith purchases a glass of Dr. Pepper and Pico is terrified for his sanity. Pico himself gets a hot chocolate to make up for his earlier one, but it soon becomes a casualty to the glass of pure poison. Along with pepper. And salt. And a napkin. And a donut Keith had ordered. And a sugar packet. Where did Keith get the creamer?

The glass changes from a simple dark soft drink to a monstrosity of light swirling colours topped off with a terrifyingly thick level of pepper on top. The workers have no idea what they've done.

Keith looks up at Pico, and signs 'sip?'

Pico's not one to turn down a challenge.

He takes the glass in hand, staring down at the equivalent to rat poison in his hand. He glances back up at Keith, which has the most maniacal expression he's ever seen on anyone. Pico's shaking, as he rises the glass to his lips and slowly tilts a bit into his mouth.

It's at this point that Pico realizes the human body is near amazing with its ability to prevent toxins from getting into it, as when a drop of the liquid hits his tongue he's reflexively curdling away from the glass, putting it back onto the table and gagging.

"Dude why do you even do this?!?" He exclaims.

Keith takes a sip and shivers a bit, but not as phased as he should be after drinking that "drink."

'Restaurant's are boring. Science isn't.'

Pico will never understand him.

* * *

They sit on the roof of Pico's apartment building, as more soft snowflakes drift from the evening clouds.

Keith signs about his next battle with Cherry's mother, to which he has to do tomorrow. Pico intently watches his hands, glancing to his face every once in a while.

Keith knows it isn't true, but sometimes it feels like Pico is better to him than anyone else in the world. 

He always listens, even though Keith himself knows how hard that can be due to his mode of communication. He values it.

"Hey, thanks for today," Pico starts.

"I really enjoyed being with you again."

'You too,' Keith signs back. Pico starts idly fiddling with his gun.

"I mean like, you make me enjoy things more than usual. If i was with anyone else in that park it would be boring as fuck. Probably talking about something instead of—" Pico chuckles, "—Fucking annihilating some kids' sled."

"I never really got to be a kid. Thank you." 

Pico genuinely smiles at Keith, and Keith can't help but beam back.

"Pico," he says, going to continue, but stops and finishes his sentence by signing 'you're welcome.'

Pico sighs happily. Keith does the same, and lays back on the roof.

They watch the clouds together. Things are calm. Pico closes his eyes again for a bit, and it solidifies that fact.

Keith's curious, oh so curious, and in risk of ruining this entire moment, signs, 'why did you leave years ago?'

'I'm not mad,' he adds on. Pico breathes out and sits up.

"It's a few reasons," he looks away from Keith. Keith waits quietly for Pico to continue, and Pico takes the hint.

"You know how I—my brain is."

Keith nods.

"It was, well, I—you," Pico trips over his words trying to formulate what to say.

"I kept seeing you. But, not you. It hurt. I had to stop seeing you." 

Pico slumps over. Keith sits up. 

3 years ago, Pico had just up and disappeared from Keith's life. 

Things were going well, they were the closest of friends, yet, Pico had just completely gone and vanished.

'I understand how hard that would be,' he signs, putting a hand on Pico's arm. Pico slightly untenses.

'I don't want you to do that anymore.'

Pico nods.

"Okay."

Keith, satisfied, looks up at Pico's face, where a slightly relieved expression rests under all those walls he's put up. Keith wonders something…

He takes off his hat, and places it on Pico's head. Pico, very not-subtly blushing, splutters for words. Keith nods, satisfactorily.

'Now it looks like you have a normal sized forehead.'

Pico fixes the hat and blinks at Keith incredulously.

"Oh yeah? Easy for you to say, Sonic," he points at the spiky blue mess that's Keith's hair. Keith chuckles.

'Oh _yeah?_ How about you explain whatever carrot-like style you have going on here?' Pico gasps dramatically.

"Well at least I'm not a rip-off of every rapper ever!"

'At least I _am_ a rapper! Mumbling doesn't count!'

"At least I don't sound like a fax machine!"

'At least I don't sound like I just smoked 50 cigarettes! At once!'

The two kept hurling playful insults at each other until the sun went down.

* * *

Pico says his goodbyes to Keith out on the snow dusted sidewalk. Keith signs for a hug, and after a quick glance around, Pico complies in their first actual hug in 3 years. (He'll deny he enjoyed it.)

'You should come watch me battle her Mom,' Keith signs.

"I'll think about it," Pico says back. (He probably will. No reason to pass up more time with Keith. And Cherry, too.)

(Mainly Keith.)

They wave their goodbyes and Pico heads back into his building, sighing happily once he gets into his apartment.

It's just then, he realizes that Keith stole his sweater.

* * *

AYOOOO ITS FANART TIME heres some art by the wonderful [aires-berries!!!!!!!](https://aires-berries.tumblr.com/)

this fanarts an amazing drawing of a scene in ccchhhhapter 2? i think???? or 3????????

either way its fucking poggers!!!! i highly encourage all of you to follow or support them!!!!!!!!!!!

[click here for their tumblrr!!!!!!](https://aires-berries.tumblr.com/)

give em love!!! they deserve it!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another gigantic thanks to [aires-berries](https://aires-berries.tumblr.com/) for the fanart!!! i am eternally grateful!!!!!!!!
> 
> might as well put my contacts here if anyone wanna talk, give me shit, yadda yadda yadda  
> tumblrs:  
> [main blog](https://peagnut.tumblr.com/)  
> [fandom blog where i posted my own fanart for my own fic](https://picognut.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/peagnut)
> 
> discord: peagnut#1467
> 
> anything else is always "peagnut"


	6. sad :,(

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: general angst, anxiety, and a PTSD episode/attack.   
> The PTSD episode entails murder and descriptions of a school shooting.  
> proceed with caution.
> 
> Lots of angst happens with Keith (but by the end he has a plan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey pal-ios its been a hot min i think idk  
> bc like school and i have some tests friday ive been half procrastinating the fic  
> but like i still think ab it  
> even tho my adhd is goin at the speed of light and moving onto other fandoms--  
> i'll make sure to finish this before i do
> 
> thank you all for support as usual  
> i usually avoid comments if i havent posted for a bit in fear of people getting mad at me for lack of chapters--  
> enjoy this chapter even if it does involve a big fight  
> i promise i dont hate gf- she will get better

Keith sighed happily when he finally closed the door to his home. Another day spent, and a change; but a good one. Everything went as planned, since Pico’s very go-with-the-flow type of guy. It was perfect.

Until he sees the kitchen light on.

Looking through the weird...kitchen window thing, Cherry’s sitting at the table  _ which she never does,  _ staring at him  _ which she never does with  _ **_that_ ** _ expression,  _ and worst of all,  _ she’s perfectly still. _

Keith is pretty sure that this is either an unplanned intervention or murder. He’s not sure which is worse.

He walks to the kitchen, trying to make his steps sound lighter in an attempt to not make her more annoyed at him.

“Come, sit,” she says, pulling out one of the kitchen stools from under the overhang counter. It’s an intervention. Fuck.

He sits by her, his insides feel all wavy and still at the same time. He rocks back and forth nervously, but not enough to make the chair creak.

“This Pico’s?” She takes gentle hold of the sweater sleeve. Keith nods slowly. Cherry takes a steady slow breath.

“It’s nice he cares about you. You probably wore your t-shirt, didn’t you?” Keith nods guiltily.

“I wanted to talk to you about Pico. And for simplicity, I want you to nod yes or shake for no,” she says, steadily. 

Keith  _ hated _ when she did the whole  _ nod yes or no. _ It was like dumbing his speech down to the simplest form while making him feel like a child. You can’t properly communicate with head movements! What if he wanted to say something  _ other  _ than yes or no? 

He gets it’s to accommodate her since she’s still learning sign language, but he hates it. And with how she’s still learning, he can’t communicate that with her. He hates it.

“So you and Pico have history,” she starts. Keith nods.

“You’re aware he offers services for killing people, right?” Keith nods, hesitantly.

“And you’re aware what happened with him in 1990?” Keith shook his head slowly. Cherry sighs.

“I did some research.” Huh?

“Your friend here was involved in a school shooting.” What??

“They say he killed more people than the school shooters did.” How???

“We can even look at the news articles in the morning.”

Keith understood a lot of things now.

He slumped in the chair, untensing his arms and letting them fall into his lap.

“Do you understand why I don’t want you hanging around him?”

Keith shook his head no. This...doesn’t change anything. Not his view on how Pico’s a bad person. If anything, it changes his view on how badly he needs to get him a  _ therapist. _

“Can I be blunt?” She asks. Keith nods.

“I frankly don’t know how you can hang around him. Knowing what he’s done, knowing what he could do, he has a gun at all times! He twitches, he’s constantly scanning for  _ something, _ underneath all that ‘badassery’ is a paranoid, mentally unstable basketcase. And someday, Keith, one of us could be at the end of that. He looks like he’s going to snap at any second, fuck, just look up his name in the library! I can only imagine what his police records say, and--” Keith jumps up from the stool, covering his ears. He shakes his head, he can already feel tears pricking at his eyes,

‘You’d know how if you talked to him,’ he signs, sloppily and jerkily, knowing she absolutely doesn’t understand him, and he runs off to his room. 

He sits under his heavy blankets and cries. Cherry doesn’t come after him.

He doesn’t hear the front door close, so she’s still there. He wishes she’d leave.

Hours later, he peeks outside to see her laying on the couch, asleep. He gently lays a blanket over her. He has to make her understand.

He heads out into the night.

* * *

Pico wakes up in his bed in a cold sweat. His fingers twitch for something cold, and safe. His head feels like cotton.

Despite this he drags himself out of bed. Everything looks fake. Like cotton.

Or like it isn’t there. He’s not quite seeing it. Or like it’s an endless void.

Things move, but they don’t. It seems like patterns are swaying around him.

He can’t exactly comprehend what he was doing. What he was going to do. He just got up, for no reason but to stand.

He can hear thumping from the hallway. Soon enough, everyone around him will be dead. And he’ll have to do what he knows to do.

He can only imagine how it’ll end.

Things he sees, he imagines her as a gigantic monster. It’s easier to kill her that way. Something you can’t comprehend is easier to kill. It’s not alive.

The police reports, he sat in the cold office for a long time. Just a kid.

They argued over how dangerous he was. He watched as someone made a case for why he should be locked up.

His brain makes dumb connections. He can’t look at an apple without feeling dread and an immediate adrenaline rush. He doesn’t go outside too often, because of this.

He’s afraid he’ll hurt someone. Guns hurt, they kill. He floats through the halls of his school. Anyone alive is a danger.

Into the bathroom, someone not involved. They’re oblivious to what’s outside, but Pico’s running on pure panic and fear. He kills an innocent person.

Cold water dumps over his head and his brain goes quiet. He turns off the bathtub faucet, completely snapped out of his trance. Water drips from his head, soaks his shirt, but he’s grateful it can throw him out of his thoughts in an instant. He dries himself.

He takes a gun out of a display case, feeling like something different today. It’s lighter than his usual gun, and colder, since it’s been sitting untouched in his freezing bedroom for a long time. He sees the beginnings of frost forming on his collection. He hates his landlord.

He takes a few deep breaths and methodically loads the gun with two bullets. He hasn’t gotten a call for a good while, but his last client’s payment could likely last him half a year,  _ at least.  _

Pico’s job was...weird. He did it well, but he didn’t necessarily enjoy it; who would enjoy killing people?

He always imagined them as animals and otherworldly beings, because if he ever focused on the fact that they were real, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

He was, more often nowadays, called up as a type of hitman, untouchable by police and efficient. Clients would bring out a whole sob story on why they wanted the person in question killed, (Pico never listened unless it was really off the wall; if he did it would just humanize the victim,) Pico did the dirty work and he got paid. He dropped out of middle school for this shit.

Sometimes he thinks about how he was likely manipulated by his family into guns, and his dependence on them. ‘Oh it’s a family gene!’ Bullshit. Who the fuck has a family gene that gives you the ability to kill people? He’d much rather a cancer gene, honestly.

Either way, he can’t function without this death machine so what better to revolve his entire life around it?

Pico loads a third bullet. Just in case.

He starts going through the normal morning routine of checking if all his blinds are closed, decides he’s going to be a productive adult and gathers up all of his laundry, and even makes his own bed. Satisfied, he heads out to his living room--where he immediately jumps 50 feet in the air from the figure on his couch, clicking off safety and pointing his gun, oh god did he leave his door unlocked? Did some random hobo crawl off of the street into his house and crashed on his couch? He inches forward, and using a nearby broom from the kitchen, slowly pries up the blanket, his gun focused and,

It’s just Keith.

All of his nerves evaporate at once, melting away until he’s crouched on the floor with his thumping heartbeat--holy shit. That was not how he was expecting his morning to go.

He rises from the floor, wearily looking at Keith (and  **not** observing how the morning sun leaking through the blinds casts on his face making him look like he’s glowing, but if he  _ was _ he would describe it as near angelic,) and starts up breakfast the quietest he can. His phone’s display is on, he had left it on the counter like an idiot, and he sees 3 missed calls from Keith, and two different texts, saying:

2:37AM Keith: hey can i please crash please

3:03AM Keith: fuck u im doing it anyways

Well. He’s never leaving his phone on the counter again.

Pico starts up the stove and starts making one of the only things he can make with ease: eggs and toast. At some point, he turns to see Keith sitting up and he almost drops his pan; but breathes all of his tension out and composes himself for Keith. 

Keith, who’s just sat up and blinking wide-eyed, eventually slowly turns his head to Pico. 

“How’d you get in?” Pico says. Keith forms his hand into V signs, taps them together, and then does a picking motion from one of the Vs.

‘Lockpick,’ he signs.

* * *

“So you got into a fight with your girlfriend, and broke into my house at 3 in the morning???” 

‘When you put it like that it sounds bad,” Keith huffed while signing.

“Where did you even learn to lockpick??” Pico said incredulously.

“You,” Keith said.

“Oh.”

They both briefly lapsed into silence. They sat together on the couch, the whole story told over breakfast.

“So, what do we do about this?” Pico asked, “I’m guessing you want us to be friends, yeah?”

Keith nodded.

“Do you have a plan on how to do that?” Keith contemplated for a moment, then signed,

‘I think talking with each other could help start.’

“You have that battle with her mom,” Pico offered, and the sparkle in Keith’s eyes immediately returned.

‘You’re right!” He signed enthusiastically, bouncing in his seat, making Pico also bounce a little on the couch.

‘You can meet her, and talk, alone, and she’ll understand!!’ He jumped up, and Pico couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, there’s your plan then,” Pico chuckled at the boy’s energy. He was then pulled up abruptly to his feet.

‘Let’s go!!!’ he tugged Pico towards the door.

“Well, I’d love to go as soon as possible, but,” Pico gestured to his lack of pants. Keith stopped, looked down, froze, and very obviously avoided looking down.

‘Yeah, I think that’s important’


End file.
